


Soured

by whatacartouchebag



Series: Fair Game Weekend 2020 [3]
Category: RWBY
Genre: M/M, fairgameweekend2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:07:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26811883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatacartouchebag/pseuds/whatacartouchebag
Summary: Day Three Challenge - Seasons“You know... I didn't think it'd still be this hot at this time of night.” The incredulous murmur from next to him had dark brows raising, a wry smirk already forming on Qrow's lips as he glanced over at the man.“You get used to it,” he replied with the barest touch of sympathy.Still... a vacation was a vacation, after all.
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Series: Fair Game Weekend 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951708
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	Soured

**Author's Note:**

> Possibly my favourite piece to work on out of the three days. Something light and relaxed and all manner of fun and teasing, as these two are wont to do.
> 
> That and I'm a sucker for near misses and big revelations, so take that as you will going into this fic lmao ♥

“You know... I didn't think it'd _still_ be this hot at _this_ time of night.”

The incredulous murmur from next to him had dark brows raising, a wry smirk already forming on Qrow's lips as he glanced over at the man.

Clover had taken to letting fingers skirt along the front of his open shirt, moving it loosely to help skin cool in the downright sweltering heat about them. Menagerie might be one of the most beautiful places he'd ever laid eyes on, but there was something to be said about it's tropical climate.

He'd been warned long before arriving that the weather would be enough to do him in, and in hindsight, he was utterly glad that his joking suggestion of going in fall would probably be a better idea. Heat, he could handle; the arid climate of Vacuo was almost the same as that of Solitas, and he relished returning to the continent one day.

The humidity of Menagerie was always going to be the straw that broke the camel's back.

Qrow turned amused eyes back to the rest of the street they walked, pinky fingers loosely joined between them. Life teemed about them, glowing in the light of lanterns strung overhead; clashing against the gaudy neon signs proclaiming wondrous destinations and delicious promise. All manner of Faunus and humans were packed tightly alongside one another in the dense street that felt more like an alley; food stalls and vendors and hawkers spruiking their wares as they spilled onto the walkways. The air was thick with rich and sizzling aromas, heady with incense from nearby insect repellent torches as raucous music carried above and around them, and all of it lifted within the same oppressive humidity that had dragged on into the night air.

Every scrap of it an orchestra of life and loud chaos, and enough to keep the warm smile upon the huntsman's lips.

“You get used to it,” he replied with the barest touch of sympathy. Still, he wasn't a fool; he'd left his usual attire far behind in their room, opting for a simple white button down and shorts far more suited to the beach than fighting Grimm. Not that either of them expected to be fighting any this far into the city.

A vacation was a vacation, after all.

The brunet could only sweep fingers back through a fringe with a sigh. He didn't think he'd _ever_ get used to the horrendous touch of humidity upon his skin, no matter how long he spent in the southern parts of the world. How Qrow managed to survive it was beyond him, though he supposed he now knew how he felt living alongside him in Solitas for so long.

“I thought you said it would be _better_ here at this time of year,” he pointed out with a huff of amusement.

The huntsman gave a non-committal shrug at his words, that smirk only growing. “I only said you'd tolerate  _fall_ better than  _spring_ , so you're welcome.”

Clover gave a soft laugh at the reply, fingers giving a gentle squeeze. Perhaps he deserved it for suggesting their next vacation have nothing  _at all_ to do with the snow, thank you very much.

Still...

The huntsman pulled them both to a stop at a vendor, distracted by something that looked decidedly delicious. Clover could agree; it smelled downright heavenly, and the vendor behind the stall handed over a couple of the fully laden skewers before returning to his grill. With a practised hand, he quickly turned another batch as they sat above hot coals, flames shooting up from beneath them in a sizzling rush of heat.

Green eyes were suddenly struck by the way Qrow seemed to all but glow in the light of the evening, and he couldn't help but let himself still, caught as he was as the huntsman handed over coin and conversation.

Normally pale skin seemed radiant in the dancing flames, and it washed dark hair in a warmth that all but wreathed him for a handful of time. But oh, how those brilliant red eyes captured the light. It brought Clover to a complete pause, and it wasn't until the burst of flames receded that he blinked back to the world.

He was about to glance away when Qrow's purchased offering appeared in his vision, and he realised that he was being handed something to eat. The huntsman took his silence as simple distraction, and he laughed gently, prompting the man to take one.

“Come on, these are pretty good,” he told him, nodding his head further up the street. “And there's a juice place further up that makes something that'll really hit the spot afterwards.”

Clover could only return the huntsman's smile, fingers lacing about their impromptu dinner. Despite Qrow's need to eat something piping hot and freshly grilled in the oppressive heat, he trusted his tour guide.

It always seemed to turn out for the best, in the end.

“Alright, lead the way,” he replied, and he allowed himself to be pulled gently through the crowds. It was still surprising to see so many people clustered together considering the time of night, but he simply had to reason with himself that Menagerie had become somewhat of a tourist destination over the years. Now, anyone who was _anyone_ made time to visit the idyllic tropical continent for a picture perfect recharge.

Themselves included, and he couldn't keep the wistful smile from his expression as they threaded easily into the more open streets. It had been Qrow's bold suggestion initially; something to help introduce his husband to the varied wonders of the world, and with his own joking response, it all but sealed the idea of a brief getaway.

In such a relative time of peace, they both knew they could safely leave the world to anyone else for a week or two.

He glanced down at the overflowing skewer in his hand, and took in all manner of meat and vegetable. He trusted Qrow enough to know his tastes, and he trusted him further to help show him everything else he  _didn't_ know. With a curious sniff, he immediately identified some lavish peppery seasoning that wanted to sneak up his nose and tickle his sinus.

“Went with the spicy one, huh?” he remarked, not bothering to wait before teeth plucked the first morsel from the stick.

In a rush, there was heat and rich flavour and intense spice and all of it wrapped up in one of the most tender pieces of meat he'd ever had the chance to sample. He damn well almost came to an utter stop as the groan of complete satisfaction left him. Qrow caught the sound, and he glanced over his shoulder, laughing at the reaction.

“That good, is it?” he grinned at him. “Good thing I've got an eye for quality.”

Clover wanted to reply. He really did. He was unfortunately more focused on the incredible flavour that was flooding his mouth with every chew. He managed to nod his head enthusiastically, and it was enough for the huntsman to laugh gently at him again, and take a bite of his own.

Dark brows raised, surprised by  _just_ how good it all was. The right amount of sear, the spice, the incredible tenderness of the meat; the vendor certainly knew his trade. There was a gentle laugh from next to him, and Qrow glanced over in time to see the man wiping at the corner of his mouth with the back of his wrist; catching some of the rich juices that had escaped in his hurry.

A little less of the soldier every day, the thought whispered to him.

“Somehow I don't think these are going to last all that long,” the brunet remarked. “We might have to go back for seconds.”

Qrow could only offer an amused sound in return, and watched as he took another little chunk of grilled fruit from the skewer. He was almost as bad as his nieces when it came to trying new food; entirely curious and almost utterly voracious when something sparked his interest. With a warm smile, he turned back to his own dinner, wondering in hindsight if he  _hadn't_ of bought seconds for them.

The brunet had barely bitten down on the little piece when green eyes widened, and he stopped entirely in the middle of the street. It caught Qrow by surprise, feeling the sudden tug on his hand, and he raised a brow at him.

“Bite your tongue?” he asked simply.

Clover seemingly hadn't heard the question, caught distantly by something else as he chewed slowly. The huntsman watched him carefully, knowing there was something playing behind those eyes other than mere hesitation, and he gave a gentle squeeze to joined fingers.

The brunet finally swallowed. “Pineapple.”

Qrow could only blink at the softly incredulous tone of the word, and glanced down at both of their skewers, noticing the simple chunks of the fruit threaded here and there along them.

Red eyes flicked back up to the other's, and a brow raised at the eloquent summation of their dinner, waiting for the explanation he hoped would come. The man seemed to come back to his senses a little, realising he'd been caught, and he met that gaze finally.

“That's... pineapple.”

The huntsman couldn't help the soft snort of a laugh that escaped him, and he worried a little for his husband's sanity.

“Well... yeah,” he began, lifting up his own skewer for emphasis. “It's a pretty common thing here. Tropical weather's good for something, right?” he added jovially. When it became clear that he wasn't about to receive any sort of response, he could only sigh lightly at the man, wondering what it was that had brought about his sudden brain freeze.

“What, never had it before?” he prompted softly.

Clover let green eyes flit between red, and the faintest breath of amusement escaped him.

“... I haven't had it since I was a kid.”

The words were almost lost to the noise of the street about them, soft as they were, and Qrow felt his brows pinch lightly at them. The implications of the man's words ran deep, and he found himself caught on one very specific point in particular. How on earth had he managed to try a tropical fruit from all the way in Atlas? Let alone transport it all the way up to the frigid northern continent without it  _spoiling_ .

He'd barely parted his lips to voice the question when Clover gave an almost embarrassed laugh, gentle in tone as he glanced away.

“I... it was during the Vytal Festival when I was a second year cadet,” he told him almost shyly. “One of the vendors there was from Menagerie, and there was this...” His words trailed off as parts of the memory caught on his tongue, like trying to snatch at smoke. He could vividly remember the sweetness of it. The sharp acidic taste. How a fruit could be that juicy, he hadn't the faintest clue, but he remembered the way he had to quickly swipe a hand to his chin to catch it. He remember the cadence of vendor's laugh when green eyes had gone wide with surprise.

Qrow, to his credit, had remained silent as his husband stepped his way through his memories, but at mention of the Vytal Festival, dark brows had furrowed. He knew vendors from around the world attended, spruiking their wares and introducing people to the wonders of the very place they all lived.

He remembered quite a _few_ of the really good ones, and there was probably one weapons vendor he was still banned from in Mistral because of his luck.

Probably.

But the memory of the food stuck with him the best, and he could recall a couple of them over the years that hailed from Menagerie.

Clover laughed suddenly, dragging the huntsman back from his own memories, and he watched the brunet shake his head in recalled amusement.

“He was selling grilled pineapple, and I only ever got to try it the once when I was there.” His smile sat broad across his entire expression, glittering in his eyes and crinkling in the corners. He turned the skewer over in his fingers, as if it held the rest of his memories, and he was merely reading from it like an open book.

“No matter what time I went there – before matches, last thing at night, before _training sessions_ started the following day – they always told me the same thing; their shipment had run dry and someone else just beat me to the last one.”

The phrase struck Qrow gently, and something fell with a dull clunk in the back of his mind, clattering to the floor and upending itself. Red eyes had widened faintly as he stood up a little straighter, and as Clover gave another amused laugh at his sour luck, what had fallen suddenly slotted into place with a resounding click.

“Haven...”

At the soft breath of a word, Clover finally drew his gaze up to meet vaguely astonished red; his own surprise running light upon his expression.

The quiet utterance suddenly washed the world away from behind both of them, drowning out the noise and the sights, and they were caught in lightly widened gazes that flicked almost warily between each other. The brunet felt his brow pinch as he played the world over in his mind for the twelfth time, and it struck him as he parted lips to reply.

“The... third last Vytal Festival at Haven...” Qrow's voice stole into his thoughts once more, and Clover closed his mouth as the startling words struck. At the delicate visual cue, red eyes flicked down to lips, before meeting those eyes once more, remembering that he needed to take a breath.

“It _was,_ wasn't it?” he pressed, and he threaded fingers together with purpose, humidity be damned. “Because it was the middle of summer. And there was a vendor that always travelled from Menagerie and _only_ sold seasonal fruits, and that year all they had access to was pineapple, because-”

“Because of the storm season...” Clover finished for him, brow firmly creased now. “How do you-”

He cut himself off, knowing it was moot to voice the words when he knew. He  _knew_ why, and he  _damn well_ couldn't believe it. He remembered the sting of disappointment each time he'd been told, when he'd glance up in the direction the vendor had waved to with his apologies.

And as always, that same dark head of hair slipped away into the crowds before vanishing entirely and taking the last taste he'd ever get of that delicious fruit. No matter how many times he tried, it was always the same answer and the same sight greeting him.

That same head of hair that now stood before him, maybe streaked with a little more grey than back then, as they travelled worlds apart from one another, never even  _knowing_ how close they'd come to meeting. The sudden huff of a laugh fell from Qrow, the smile splitting across his expression as red eyes downright  _sparkled_ in the evening light.

“I couldn't believe my _luck_...” he breathed in elated astonishment. “I always got the last-”

And he came to a complete stop, his smile faltering at the edges.

Clover was still caught in the memory, and green eyes skirted away for a moment, distantly seeing the actual vendors about them, their stalls still rich with overflowing wares at the end of a long day, and all he could feel was the same sting of disappointment from so many years ago. It had been when he was a second year cadet; already an accomplished fighter, and having been hand-picked to attend the festival based on his skills alone.

But his semblance was still such a wild card, even to him.

Even to others around him.

Qrow, in his haste to snatch at the incredulous story and wring the truth from the man, seemingly missed the way the brunet had stilled initially. Where memories had brought little else but overflowing mirth to the huntsman, Clover only looked to be completely stuck in the bitterness of the past. Of when he was still trying to learn how to control himself. Of when others only sought to take advantage of what he was capable of.

Of when he was a semblance, and little else.

Red eyes flicked between those lowered green, and he saw the depth of hurt that ran behind them, suddenly feeling all mirth flood from him like a dam bursting its seams. He gave a gentle squeeze to those fingers, hoping to stir the man back to him.

“Cloves...” he tried softly, and those hurt green eyes darted back up to him. The way those lips pressed into a thin line spoke volumes of that time in the man's life, and Qrow felt something in his chest _ache_.

He expected the hurt of dredging up old memories.

What he  _wasn't_ expecting was the sudden flash of anger in those eyes, and his husband poking him in the chest with the business end of a skewer.

“ _You-_ ” came the sharp start to his words, and red eyes widened at the vicious turn of events, snapping his own gaze down to that weapon as dark brows vanished into a hairline. He only vaguely resisted lifting his hands into the air in surrender, but he couldn't stop the way he had to glance about them worriedly.

Those catching wind of the altercation only saw a lovers' quarrel, and  _none of them_ wanted to get involved in that, given the look in Clover's eyes.  _Qrow_ wanted none of it, even if he still didn't know what the hell had spawned it.

“Uh... you want to... put that away,” he tried carefully, reaching up with his own skewer to delicately brush it to the side. Fingers were unlaced in a heartbeat, and Clover poked him firmly in the chest instead, and Qrow _did_ raise his hands in light surrender.

“You owe me _so much_ grilled pineapple.”

In a sudden, stilling realisation, Qrow gambled proudly with his life and threw caution completely to the wind.

The sharp snort of laughter tore from him, and he dropped his hands to his sides, not expecting that answer at  _all_ . He met those irritated green eyes, and he couldn't stop from shaking his head, the roll of mirth spilling from his chest once more as the laughter soon overtook him entirely.

If anything, it only served to sour the brunet's mood even further, and the heavy sigh flooded from him as he rolled his eyes skywards. It was criminally too hot to deal with his garbage right now.

“Gods wait- wait, are- you're actually _serious?_ ” the incredulous question tumbled out between giggles. When that stern expression never wavered, the huntsman nearly choked on his laughter once more. “You _are!_ ”

“Qrow, you had every single last order from that vendor for _six days straight_ ,” he groused, showing no signs of budging.

“Yeah, when we were _fourteen_.” The huntsman couldn't stop himself from grinning if he tried, and he gestured lightly to his husband with his own skewer. “Oh come on, one isolated string of mishaps is _nothing_ compared to a lifetime of terrible luck, and not even _you_ can stay bitter about _that_ logic.”

A beat of time, and those green eyes flicked away for a heartbeat.

The huntsman resisted the sigh that burned on his tongue, and enticingly waggled his skewer at him instead.

“We could skip a second helping and go straight to dessert,” he offered, voice dripping with the sweetest honey. “And it's fresh here; most of the vendors grow it themselves, so you can be assured of the finest quality.” Which was absolutely all it took for Clover to fold entirely. Qrow saw survival stretch out before him, and he slipped closer to the man once more, his free hand slipping about a waist as he walked with him along the path once more.

“Come on, it'll be my treat, since apparently _someone_ doesn't know how to let go of a twenty year grudge,” he added with a highly amused grin.

“I am _not_ -”

Red eyes fixed firmly on his, and he knew there was no explaining his way out of it. Those dark brows raised pointedly, and he sighed, the tension dropped free from his shoulders.

“Alright,” he conceded with a gentle laugh, shaking his head lightly. “Alright...”

That arm gave a gentle squeeze as they walked before slipping away, letting fingers lace together once more.

“Atta boy,” Qrow told him with delicate cheek, teeth extracting another chunk of food from his skewer. The brunet could only watch him happily munch on his little morsel for a moment, wry smile upon his expression before he glanced down at his own skewer.

Maybe he  _did_ get caught up in the emotion of the past, but gods above... finding out the man at his side was the same punk that had soured his luck for days on end was enough to bring it all crashing back to the forefront of his mind. The sigh stuck on the back of his tongue, and what else, really, could he do but laugh at the situation?

Those fingers squeezed his, and he glanced back at his husband, looking an absolute sight in the evening glow of the street. Mostly in part due to the trail of juice that slipped down his chin, and the brunet untangled fingers from him to gently brush it away.

“You're such a messy eater...” he breathed, wiping a hand on his pants before seeking out fingers once more. Qrow laughed brightly at him, shoulder bumping together as they walked and smile firmly on his expression.

“Learnt from the best, you brat.”

Clover could only smile back at him, warmth of a different kind settling into his skin as conversation came back to them once more. Lighter memories of the past, and of a time almost shared together, were it not for yet another twist of fortune in their lives.

Once again, they found common ground at their feet, and as they wound their way through the little city that refused to sleep, Qrow could only watch the man with renewed interest. It wasn't often he got to see his husband so enamoured by something that crossed their path, and he knew exactly what he had to do.

As they reached their next destination and orders were placed, it offered them a chance to stand still and simply watch the city about them for a brief snatch of time. There they stood, half a world away from where they first met, and still life was finding ways to draw them closer to one another.

What else could they do but simply laugh at their little twist of fortune?

There was a dull thunk on a counter behind them, drawing them back to the present, and a near overflowing pair of drinks were placed before them, Clover could only laugh. Of course it was pineapple juice.

Of course.

Those red eyes downright sparkled with cheek as he collected his drink, and with a knowing wink, took a refreshing sip from it. The brunet could do little else but laugh softly at him, shaking his head before joining him; the sweetly acidic taste slipping across his tongue and tantalising his senses.

And if the rest of their time in Menagerie was spent with the huntsman introducing his husband to the many different meals, treats and drinks containing his newfound favourite, well...

A vacation was a vacation, after all.


End file.
